


The Only Living Boy in New York

by fleurharry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 1960s, Alternate Universe - 1960s, Harvard University, Hippie Harry, M/M, Soccer Louis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 07:34:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12836343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurharry/pseuds/fleurharry
Summary: The spring of 1969 was right around the corner and the whole world was waiting to see what Harry's next move would be after graduation. Son of the head of the sociology department at Harvard University, Harry Styles experienced all the privilege and the company, along with the neglect and the shadow that came with the territory of his father's ivy clad world. He was eighteen, brilliant, and stoned with a fancy for the soccer captain that happened to be his life-long best friend.Harry was surrounded by the best minds, but the most important lesson he learned was that regardless of what you are born with, life will take you wherever it wants to and sometimes there is nothing you can do about it.





	The Only Living Boy in New York

“Well what the hell were you doing over in Harlem, anyway?” Henry asked.

Doug rolled his eyes and said, “I was visiting a buddy over at Columbia, but that’s not the point. I ended up over by Sherman Square and-”

“Jesus, Doug, that’s Needle Park,” Harry said.

“No shit, you’re telling me. There was this girl-”

“Oh for Christ’s sake, I don’t wanna hear this.”

“Aw Henry, baby, are you jealous? Because if so, you know I haven’t a single issue with homosexuality, you can tell me,” Doug said.

“You’re gonna tell me about a junkie girl you got the hots for and it’ll make me throw up. I can't handle that shit with all the blood and the bodily fluids.”

“Bodily fluids?”

“Shit coming out of their arms and drool coming out of their mouths, it’s disgusting.”

“She shoots heroine, she’s not Lenny with a mouse in her pocket. Let’s not get carried away.”

“You didn’t fuck a junkie, did you?” Harry asked with a grin, eyes bright with disbelief.

“Boys, gentlemen, Harry, gentle child,” Doug pointed at Harry and winked. “This girl, nay, this woman, this chick, this beauty, this thing-“ he mused before Henry interrupted.

“Alright, Marcel Proust, cut to the chase.”

“A red rose limp in a puddle. A hummingbird with a broken wing. I mean this is a diamond in the rough. She was a doll, let me tell you. Red hair and milky white legs,” he bit his knuckle for emphasis. “She was a dream.”

Henry pulled a cigarette out of his breast pocket. “Harry, check his arms for track marks.”

“He’d never,” Harry said and plucked at his violin that he held lazily. He looked over at Doug. Doug with his long hair, expensive glasses (replacing his last pair that got crushed when him and some of his Harvard Lampoon boys were fleeing the scene after they had gotten caught hazing freshmen initiates by having them swim in one of the fountains on campus naked), and square jaw that framed his nice smile. He was loud and strange and intrigued by bleakness, the idea of a wretched life. Doug played around with dangerous places and dangerous people like they were toys and he was invincible. “You’d never,” Harry repeated, looking for affirmation.

“Baby,” Doug walked over and put his finger tips under Harry’s jaw and cradled his face. “I’d never. I’d rather kill myself than stick one of those slum needles in my arm.”

And there it was. An endless fascination with miserable people, writhing with the pain of their problems, mixed with an ever-present elitist turned-up nose. Those needles were fine to touch their blood, but never Doug Kinney’s blood.

“Wrap it up, Dougie,” Henry said, fanning out his match after lighting his cigarette.

“So she asks if she can read me a poem and of course I say ‘My red hot angel you can do whatever you’d like’ and she read me this haiku about a waterfall flowing down her neck and the water is blood. It’s a metaphor for her hair.”

Henry nodded. “Got it.”

“Yeah, well she was great. She was pretty out of it, though, so we didn’t fuck.”

“Prince Charming,” Harry said. 

There were two girls, Bessy and Samantha, playing the baby grand piano in the library connected to the living room. Doug started swaying to the music and Harry plucked at his violin. 

“Louis is here,” Harry’s mother’s voice preceded her entrance. Her eyes caught Doug and she smiled. “Well, hello, Doug. I didn’t know you were here.”

“Just arrived, ma’am. I was coming from the city. I hope I’m not too late.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, dear. The turkey isn't even out of the oven yet. But tell me, how was the city? Were you there for the parade?”

“Unfortunately we missed the parade. See, I was visiting a friend of mine over at Columbia and he’s a Native American so he likes to pretend the city is dead on Thanksgiving.”

“Oh my,” Anne sighed with the Emily-Post-appropriate amount of dismay.

“Yes, but other than that the city was dynamite. Really.”

“I’d love to hear about it over dinner.”

“Oh you wouldn’t. The story is dreadfully tedious. He practically bored me to tears telling us about it earlier,” Henry said leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "Anne, have I told you how lovely you look tonight?”

Harry knocked his knee against Henry’s and gave him a dirty look.

Anne laughed it off, “Thank you. I should go let Desmond know you’re here, Douglass. He’ll be delighted.”

“Okay, ma’am.” 

Anne smiled and then looked back at Harry.

“Oh my, I can’t recall what I was going to tell you, Harry,” she said with a disgruntled look.

“Louis’ here,” Henry said.

“Oh,” Harry stood up immediately and rushed pass everyone. His long legs jogged through the library, down the hall with the maids’ quarters where there was a shortcut to the backdoor which is where Louis always came in through. Harry was quiet as a gazelle going through the grandiose house. He opened the door to a semi-dressed up Louis in a red knit sweater over a collared button-down shirt. Harry smiled.

“Hey,” Harry said and leaned in to hug Louis. “You look nice.”

“Forgot my jacket,” he said, pressing his cold cheek against Harry’s neck.

“Oh come in, come in.”

“I’m sorry I’m late. Dad was late picking up Fiz so I had to wait with her.”

“You should’ve brought her with you,” Harry said. He was only saying it to be polite, though, and Louis knew that. They both knew that nine year old Felicite wouldn’t find herself in a particularly warm or friendly environment. Louis smiled all the same.

“Doug just got here too,” Harry said, languid hips swaying as he walked down the hall with Louis following him.

“Oh goody,” Louis said. 

“Did my mom ask you to wait outside?”

“No I was finishing a cigarette and Magda said she’d go find her to give me a minute.”

“I didn’t smell smoke.”

“Well, you’re stoned, sweetheart.”

“Hey look who it is!” Doug said from clear on the other end of the house.

“Does he mean me?” Louis said to Harry.

“Think so,” Harry bobbed his head with his soft pink glazed eyes.

“Hello,” Louis said only slightly louder than he was already talking. Doug raised his vodka martini in cheers. 

“How many people are here?” He asked Harry.

“Probably a dozen.”

“Good. I hate sitting at that long table when it’s empty. It’s depressing.”

“Now we get to listen to a bunch of yuppies drone on and on,” he said holding Louis hand out and lacing his fingers with his. Louis gave him a quiet look.

“Those yuppies are your friends,” Louis said.

“Not them. Half of them I’ve never met before.”

“Poor thing.”

“Two cats have been holed up in my dad’s study with him for an hour."

Desmond was a professor at Harvard, and therefore lived in Massachusetts, but he did spend all of his school breaks and some weekends back home at the Styles’ huge compound-like plot of land. Every once in a while he’d bring some of his students up to camp. They usually smoked a lot of pot and dropped acid. They'd run around outside, chasing fireflies before embarking on their big, exciting lives that would be spent supporting capitalism and catching up with their psychoanalysts for the fourth time in a week. No one blamed them for wanting to go off into their ‘I Am the Walrus’ worlds for a weekend. Cheers to them. 

Harry’s parents turned a blind eye to the debauchery. They didn’t impose, they just kept to their parts of the house. These benders happened often enough that Harry had become intertwined in their web. Louis was always there, considering that Harry-minus-Louis sightings (and vice versa) were few and far between, though Louis wasn’t as enthralled with the company. But they had great grass.

Because it was Thanksgiving, the routine would be slightly different. For starters it was a particularly cold season so everyone was locked in the house. Usually Harry could go through a whole break without seeing all the guests. People would be sleeping out in the grass, in the attic, in the living room, in the library, in the basement, there were kids in every crevice, every pore of that house. Kids were finding a home in places in Harry's life that he hadn't even explored. He’d usually cling to Louis, Doug, and Henry and that was that. Harry was particularly annoyed that Samantha was there because she always ended up spending a lot of time with Louis.

“Whatever. We’ll go smoke after we make an appearance,” Harry said.

Their hands quietly untangled as they approached the entryway of the living room.

“Hello, Louis. Oh my, look at you, you're flushed,” Anne said before standing up to kiss his cheek. “You’re freezing, darling.”

“Just a tad cold. One of the windows in my car is stuck halfway open so the wind is, you know, slapping me while I drive.”

“Oh dear,” Anne said.

“That sounds dreadful,” Henry said.

“It’s fine. There’s a kid in our grade with a hole in the floor of his car so if you stick your foot through the hole you can actually touch the road,” Louis said. Everyone looked at him silently.

“You should associate with better people,” Doug said.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Louis said.

“Oh but the marvels of the public education system! Just imagine all the lessons they are learning. That hidden curriculum is so rich it’s like who cares that you’re not learning any real facts at the end of the day,” Henry said.

"Good angle," Louis noted and smiled.

“I’m glad you appreciate it,” Harry said. 

“We should make our way to the table. Will you boys wrangle the lot and bring them to the dining room, please?” Anne requested.

“Sure,” Harry said before leading Louis upstairs to smoke a joint.

 

* * *

 

“When’s the beard coming back?” Evelyn asked Doug.

“Who knows,” Doug said.

“You looked fantastic, I mean you really did. I usually don’t have a taste for facial hair, but with the long hair— it worked.”

“No, please, it shed all over the place,” Henry said.

“It shed a lot,” Doug agreed before taking a bite of stuffing.

“Oh so what? Take some pride in yourself and build a little routine. Do you know how much women are expected to do everyday to get ready?”

“Right on, sister,” Henry said and raised a fist.

“You’re adorable, Henry. I missed you today in class,” Evelyn said.

“What class?” Doug asked.

“Education and culture,” Henry said.

“Why didn’t you go?”

“I had things to do. Places to go, people to see, you know the drill.” 

“What things?”

“Douglass, you do you know that you’re not my wife right?”

“Ooo check out the claws on this kitty,” Doug said flamboyantly.

“Alright, Gore Vidal,” Desmond said. Harry lowered his head.

“Ren and I went to a protest in Portsmouth,” Henry said.

“Why?” Doug shot him a a confused look.

“Ren covered it for the paper.”

“And to fight for the cause, Mr. Woodfield?” Samantha said with her bright hazel eyes.

“Absolutely,” Henry humored her.

“What was the cause?” Desmond asked.

“What I heard was it would be a protest against police brutality, but it was an anti-racism protest mixed with a quasi-Bobby Kennedy Memorial,” Ren said. Ren was beautiful. His father was from Sicily and his mother was sweet Jane from Cape Cod with a heart of gold. Alfredo thought she was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen so they married and had Ren within two years. He was born of love and a mix of Sicilian passion and New England intellect. He was thoughtful and quiet with an incredible mind. He was the favored feature writer for the Harvard Crimson, the prettiest face of the River Houses, and Harry’s first crush.

Harry had spent a weekend alone with Ren almost a year prior. He was to visit a friend in Burlington, but the arrangements fell through so he stayed the weekend with the Styles’. He had a piece to write for the paper and his method for tackling the assignment was to think about it all weekend, then Sunday afternoon just completely purge it all out of his system until it was all laid out, ready to be organized. That Sunday night after he churned out the piece, the two boys smoked some hash and talked all night. Ren was the first person Harry ever spoke to about having feelings resembling desire for boys. Ren didn’t ask or pry into Harry’s psyche at all, but rather he possessed the distinct quality of being able to make any kind of person feel like they can trust him with everything they have, everything they are. He would sink back in his seat, cross his legs, trace circles on the pads of his thumb with his fingertips, and watch you speak with the purest sincerity. 

Harry wanted to kiss Ren badly that weekend. He stayed up all night talking to Ren in his room. Harry on his stomach on the bed in the guest room Ren was staying in, while Ren sat in the red leather chair swaying his knees to the new Velvet Underground and Nico album.  The album was being released that Sunday, but Ren had done a piece on the _Exploding Plastic Inevitable_ that got picked up by the New York Times a while back, so Andy Warhol threw him a bone and gave him and a few others early access to the album. They smoked and listened to music and Harry flirted with Ren and Ren was too cool. 

It was three in the morning and Harry knew that in five hours, Ren would be boarding a train headed back to Boston, leaving Harry to his heterosexual devices for the foreseeable future. He knew Ren wasn’t into that, though. He didn’t know much about this sort of thing, but he saw the way Ren was with Evie on occasion. The way his fingers would span her lower back and pull her towards him, the way his soft mouth would find her neck. Evie was majoring in political science and minoring in sociology, which is the catalyst for her developing a connection with Desmond, the head of the sociology department. She organized panels on campus for discussions with topics ranging from political debates to what the limitations are in journalism to gender and race inequality. She got good grades and served as an excellent resource for Ren’s journalistic endeavors. He loved the girl. He poured everything into writing and school and spent the rest of his time quietly thinking while Evelyn worked a room and gave it life. Ren would watch her, bright and bouncing around like a hummingbird flitting from one idea to the next. He’d pull her in after a while and just hold her. Harry knew how Ren felt. He knew that Ren was in love with her and thereby implying that he’s straight, but Harry couldn’t help it. Being alone with Ren and seeing the intensity of his eyes when he’s looking at only you and feeling the weight of his mind and his heart created an incredibly intimate environment.

It was three in the morning and they were both stoned out of their mind. Ren had never looked more beautiful in his whole life, Harry swore. His golden skin was peeking through his unbuttoned white shirt, rolled up to show his strong forearms. Harry’s mouth was watering.

“Hey,” Harry said with red glossy eyes. “Jack off with me.”

“What?” Ren asked, staring at the ceiling.

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t know you were so primal.”

“Desire and sexual hunger is the most magical part of life and feeding it isn’t so bad.”

“I didn’t say it was bad.”

“Go on then.”

“Why?”

“I wanna do something with you no one else has done.”

“How do you know I’ve never done it with somebody else?”

“Have you ever jacked off with another guy?”

Ren shook his head.

“You’re always wanting more experiences, right?” Harry asked with a tingling sensation growing in his stomach.

“Right.”

They jerked off in the dark. Ren’s eyes lulled shut but Harry watched Ren.

Ren was at the train station to Boston by 7:30 in the morning and the two never mentioned it again. 

 

“Did you make due?” Desmond asked before taking a bite of the green beans.

“No. I had another piece sitting around so I just went with that one instead.”

“It’s that piece he started forever ago about media's role in our individual politics. It’s dynamite. He pinned down Dr. Preston and got this brilliant pool of information from her about our unconscious leanings. It's this wonderful exploration about how we perceive politics when we’re presented with the added layer of visuals,” Evelyn said.

“No, I didn't go with that one,” Ren said.

“Oh why not?”

“Because it sounds like a conspiracy theory,” Sal said. Evelyn made a face and looked back at Ren.

“That’s not the reason, is it?” 

“Nobody liked it,” Ren said in the nonchalant way he does. Ren was the most passionate man in the world but he didn’t want to be anywhere that he wasn’t welcome. 

“The two most recent elections he’ll be analyzing are ones that ended in an assassination and us electing a republican, it’s all too depressing.”

“So what? It’s a newspaper. People aren’t opening it up to be uplifted. They want the truth. This piece is incredibly insightful. You didn’t like it, Marty?”

“Lest we forget that the piece replacing it is also covering provocative content,” Marty, the Crimson editor, said. 

“Yeah, what’s that?” Evie asked.

“That Star Trek kiss,” Marty said.

“Oh,” Evelyn looked at Ren a little flabbergasted. “You dropped it for an article about the plot of a television show?”

“Evie, come on, you know it was a big deal,” Ren said quietly to her.

“Sure, so put it in the paper, of course; but you had created a treasure chest with that last article. I sure as hell would want to read it. Psychology is the new age.”

“Nixon’s the next president. Republicans voted for him and Democrats voted for Humphrey because people will always be loyal to their party. We’re talking to a liberal base, we’ll just be preaching to the choir. It’ll be a left-wing journalist whining about why it’s so unfair that Nixon is president. It’s too easy. I want him to challenge the readers.”

“They voted for Kennedy, Marty. If anything, this article will give conservatives a reason to whine.”

“Paper’s out, Evelyn. It’s done.”

“Could you put it in the Lampoon?” Evelyn asked Henry.

“Could the picture of Nixon have his hand in his pants?” Doug asked.

“He’d have to chop it up to the point where it wouldn’t even be worth it. You don’t want to see that happen, Ren,” Henry said.

“Have you read the Star Trek piece, Evie? It’s good,” Sal said. Ren squeezed Evelyn’s thigh under the table and gave her a soft look. Evie was excited and passionate, but she found a lot of serenity in Ren’s big, dopey eyes and his pretty mouth. She had her ideas that conflicted with Ren’s from time to time, but she respected him and knew he wouldn’t do anything too stupid. They balanced each other out beautifully. She surrendered the fight.

“Did you bring it?” Desmond asked.

“I did,” Ren said.

“I’d like to read it, bring it to me later.”

“I will.”

“So, Louis how is school going?” Samantha asked. 

“Good, really good,” Louis said, red eyes focused on his food.

“You must be bored what with it being the offseason and all.”

“A little bit,” Louis said.

“Did you make captain?”

“Yeah,” he said. 

“Oh, that’s so exciting, you must be thrilled, Louis!”

“Definitely,” Louis said.

“Clearly,” Henry said. 

“Very exciting,” Harry deadpanned. 

“You know who has a good men’s soccer team?” Evelyn asked and gave Louis a sweet smile.

“Harvard?” Louis asked.

“Harvard,” Evelyn sang. Louis matched her smile.

“Where are you boys going to school?” Samantha asked.

“Bryn Mawr,” Harry said. Samantha gave him a sideways smile.

“He’s going to Harvard. Of course, he’s going to Harvard,” Sal said with his thick, dripping Boston accent. 

“Bessy’s dating someone on the soccer team,” Marty said. Bessy was one of the newbies sitting at the other end of the table. 

“Hi, Bessy,” Henry hollered over and waved exaggeratedly. Bessy waved back timidly.

“Ren started in sports for the paper,” Henry said, redirecting the conversation. Harry didn’t want to go to Harvard and his father knew it, but they didn’t talk about it because it only upset everyone involved. Henry and Doug knew all about it so they helped where they could.

“I was terrible,” Ren said.

“You didn’t know about anything, but baseball,” Marty said. Evelyn started laughing.

“He’d write these long prose about the baseball games, going through the play-by-play referring to the players with these nicknames—,” Evie started. Ren wiped his mouth with his napkin and interrupted.

“Referring to the players with these nicknames, please. The batter that season was Ian McMillan and _his team-”_

“Emphasis on ‘team’,” Henry noted.

“His team nicknamed him ‘Joltin’ Ginger,’ so I ran with it,” Ren continued.

“What about the ‘crazy legs’ of the football teams, Lorenzo?” Marty asked.

“Who cares about football,” Ren said, with his Sicilian-New York accent slipping.

“There it is,” Marty said.

“The coverage for all the other teams was dead,” she laughed.

“Whatta ya gonna do,” Ren shrugged with a sly smile. Evelyn smiled and rubbed her thumb on Ren’s cheek.

* * *

They were yin and yang laying on Harry's bed. Louis with his head on Harry’s pillow and Harry propped up by his elbow, rolling a joint, with his knees almost touching Louis' left shoulder. 

“Doug was quieter than usual,” Louis said, his hand resting on his slightly inflated stomach.

“He was graced by a junkie earlier, he’s in a love-drunk daze,” Harry said, before lightly licking the rolling paper.

“They got them at that fancy school?” 

“He was hanging around Needle Park earlier.”

“Oh, good for him.”

“Hey, how was seeing your dad?” Harry asked.

Louis rubbed his face. “I sent Fiz out and stayed in the house because I didn’t want to see him. So he sat outside laying on the horn until I came out. Franco even came out in his robe swearing like a sailor which just pissed Troy off even more.”

“Did he lay into you?”

“At what point will he stop forcing it? It’s a square peg, it’s this notion of a perfect family that is opposite of our reality in every way. You can’t just expect that everyone will treat you perfectly at all times, regardless. It’s so uncomfortable the way he just looks at me with shock that I’m not rolling over like I did when I was 9. It’s all weird.”

Harry kept rolling his joint but watched Louis out the corner of his eye. He reached over and pinched Louis’ leg lightly and rubbed a soothing hand over his leg. 

“What is this? You look adorable.”

“It’s just a sweater.”

“And your little- this thing,” Harry said and mimed a shirt collar. “Your lil’ button down shirt.”

“It’s nothing,” Louis said with the faintest hint of pink on his cheeks. Harry smiled and put the joint between his lips. 

“Fiz sleeping over there tonight?” Harry asked before lighting up.

“Oh God no, mom is picking her up after work.”

“Breaks my heart she had to work today.”

“You know I actually think she enjoys it. I don’t think she actively feels a lot joy during the experience but I think it’s more meaningful to her.”

Harry held the smoke in his lungs for a moment before exhaling and handing it over to Louis.

“That’s sweet.”

“God bless her,” Louis mumbled.

“She’s an angel,” Harry said softly. Louis peeled his eyes away from the ceiling and looked down his body at Harry. Harry was glossy-eyed and at ease. Beautiful as ever.

“Come here,” Louis muttered. Harry moved up to align his body with Louis', but they weren't touching.

“What?” Harry whispered.

Louis reached up and laced his fingers with the hair in the back of Harry’s head, resting his thumb on his jaw as he pulled Harry’s face to his for a soft kiss. 


End file.
